


Interpretations

by todisturbtheuniverse



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Bad Flirting, F/F, Fluff, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:31:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1921626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Communication is tricky, even among the baddest of badasses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interpretations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arbryna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbryna/gifts).



Two hours into the night cycle, Miranda hears shuffling in the kitchen.

Usually, she wouldn’t go to investigate. She doesn’t interact with the crew very much; she prefers to keep to her office and let Shepard make nice. They’re here for  _her_ , after all, not Cerberus. Not Miranda. That much has become abundantly clear over the last few months.

This report is giving her a headache, though. She could use a distraction.

She picks up her empty coffee mug. If it’s someone she  _really_ doesn’t want to talk to, a coffee run will be a good excuse to say a quick hello and retreat back to her office.

When she turns the corner, though, it’s the individual she wouldn’t mind talking to: Shepard.

She doesn’t hear Miranda’s approach. Her hair is tucked behind her ear, giving Miranda a clear view of her face. She leans against the sink, frowning down at the mug cradled in her hands, brow furrowed. Her half-healed scars glow faintly in the dim light.

Miranda feels almost as if she’s been caught eavesdropping—like she’s seen something that she shouldn’t. She’s never seen such weariness on Shepard’s face before; it seems private, personal.

She clears her throat, announcing herself. “Commander.”

Shepard looks up, eyebrow raised. “Miranda,” she greets pleasantly. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”

"No. I was filing a report, thought I’d top off my coffee."

A shadow passes over Shepard’s features. She shifts. “Don’t let me keep you,” she says, her voice gone cool.

Inwardly, Miranda curses her own blunder. Shepard never does react well when reminded of the reports Miranda sends to the Illusive Man. Well, she doesn’t react  _poorly_ , but she shuts down, just like this: pondering her coffee, pretending that Miranda doesn’t exist.

Miranda doesn’t want things to be like this, dammit. She likes Shepard. A lot more than she expected to; a lot more than she should. Shepard has gone above and beyond for her, even if she does still hold Miranda at arm’s length.

"The reports will keep," Miranda says at last, taking a stab at friendliness. "What are you drinking?"

Shepard wrinkles her nose. A little tension leaves her shoulders. “Irish Coffee,” she confesses. “Couldn’t fall asleep. Thought it might help.”

"It’s decaf, I hope."

Shepard gives her an exasperated look. “No,” she replies, “I’m  _that_ stupid.”

Miranda smiles. “Make me one?” she asks, holding out her mug.

Shepard huffs. “After that?” she grumbles, but she takes the cup, anyway.

There’s a nice quiet moment while Shepard pours the coffee, mixes in sugar and whiskey, and expertly adds cream to top off the mug. Her motions are quick, precise; the drink is clearly an old favorite of hers. Miranda makes herself comfortable, leaning against the island counter. Shepard hands back the cup. Miranda takes a sip and almost chokes. She blinks to clear her watering eyes; when her vision returns, Shepard is smirking.

"Little strong, don’t you think?" Miranda asks, squinting.

Shepard just smiles, a wicked gleam in her eyes, and takes a hearty swig of her own drink. “What’s the point otherwise, right?”

"I gave you perfectly good taste buds," Miranda replies, smiling a little. "You’re killing them."

Shepard laughs. Short, a little bitter, quiet. The next silence is not nearly so nice.  _This is why I shouldn’t tell jokes_ , Miranda thinks, frustrated.  _Well, I’ll have a perfectly humiliating story to tell Ori about my terrible flirting, at least._

For now, though, she needs to salvage this. Somehow.

"I’m sorry, for what it’s worth." She frowns, looking at her coffee instead of Shepard. "I don’t really relish reporting to the Illusive Man anymore."

"Why are you bringing that up?" There’s a note of confusion in Shepard’s tone.

"I thought it bothered you." Miranda looks up, puzzled, just in time to see Shepard make a face.

"Not really. I don’t like being spied on, I guess, but it’s not like he could stop me based on whatever you say in those reports."

"Oh." Reflexively, Miranda’s fingers tighten on her mug. "I thought that was why things were so…cool between us."

Shepard raises an eyebrow. “You want things to be warmer, Officer?”

"No. Yes? I mean—" Shepard snorts; it’s obvious she’s struggling to keep a straight face. "Are you  _laughing_ at me?” Miranda demands.

"A little." Grinning, Shepard puts down her mug. "Sorry. You’re usually so polished. It’s funny to see you fumble." She clears her throat. "I’ll throw you a bone. Things are cool between us because you shut me down. I thought that was what you wanted.”

"Shut you down?" Miranda tries to recall the last time she chatted with Shepard. It had gone well, she’d thought. They’d had drinks, cleared the air about Cerberus. Shepard had even complimented her.

"I was flirting with you, and you ended our conversation." Shepard shrugs. "I got the message."

"That was flirting?" Miranda asks, baffled.

At this, Shepard actually turns a little pink. She lifts a hand to her brow to massage her temples. “God,” she mutters. “Am I that out of practice?”

"Didn’t you praise my dedication or something?" Miranda tries not to laugh. "I thought you were just being kind."

"It couldn’t have been both?"

"I’m just saying it was open to interpretation."

Shepard runs her hand over her face and looks at Miranda. “Well, now that I’ve  _interpreted_ it for you, are we clear?”

Miranda puts down her mug. “Crystal,” she says.

They’re only a step apart; Miranda closes the gap, more boldly than she feels. Shepard reaches out to wrap an arm around her waist, tugging her closer, and then her eyes are closed and they’re kissing, soft and easy.

When she pulls back, Shepard’s smile has gone crooked. “Now’s about when you should feed me a line about how the mission has to come first,” she suggests, tucking Miranda’s hair behind her ear. “And there’s no time for this, and we should stoically avoid our feelings until certain death is upon us.”

Miranda thinks it over, because she had been about to say something like that—a weak protest that this maybe isn’t the time for romance, that they can afford no distractions.

"Perhaps we should enjoy the time we have left," she says instead, looping her arms around Shepard’s neck.

"I knew I liked you for a reason," Shepard sighs, leaning in for another kiss.


End file.
